


Rich in Love, Poor in Life: Can I Get A Redo?

by gaytriangle



Series: My True Love Gave To Me... [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Catelyn Stark Bashing, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Ramsay is His Own Warning, fake dating au, gratuitous fluff, marraige, non graphic past Ramsay Bolton, say it with me, “Fake” dating au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-08-27 08:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytriangle/pseuds/gaytriangle
Summary: When Theons latest technically legal money making venture- a fake wedding to scam money from the secretaries of billionaires who could never bother to check who, exactly, they’re paying- generates a positive response, he has to pull together a wedding in a hurry.Robb Stark can help with that.





	1. So, I hear there’s a wedding?

Theon had had many good ideas in his life. Somewhere, underneath the mess the rest of them had made. He had left Pyke before Balon could truly screw him over, he had found a second family with the Starks, and he had even managed to escape the Ramsay Bolton’s truly awful idea of a fun time. None of them left him with money, though. He made decent bucks on the archery competition of the month, and helping Sansa with the odd dress repair, but mostly? 

He conned. 

No one as close to the breadline as he was, of course: petty theft from Lannister bastards, schmoozing his way in and out of probably already stolen Greyjoy ships with loot in his bags, and making off with purses from Littlefingers various ventures around Winterfell. He had impersonated Black Brothers, Red Priests: even once, memorably, a Silent Sister. He wasn’t proud of it, but he was good at it, and taking what he needed to survive was hardly the worst a Greyjoy had done. 

Recently, he had gotten into email, and quickly discovered a flaw in VarysNet and it’s impenetrable security: idiot assistants. It was impossible to fake your way past firewalls, but not impossible to pretend to be an old friend. The very rich had very gullible assistants, in enough cases to get Theon a liveable apartment and better food for Ramsay’s- _Theons_ dog, Reek. 

All good things must come to an end, though, and Theon found himself with a problem: a reply. 

From **tyrellinc@raven.ws** :  
Hello, Theon!  
I’m afraid Lady Olenna simply can’t attend your event. In her stead, she sends two of the Reachs fastest destriers with gifts, in the care of her granddaughter Margaery.  
Once the identity of your partner was realised, Olenna forwarded on your email to several other friends who we believe would enjoy the event.  
Using “Stark” in your email would have helped, but young love is careless, it appears.  
Expect more RSVPs to come, and we will see you before the solstice.  
Yours,  
S. Flowers,  
Office of Olenna Tyrell. 

Theon cast an appraising glance at the calendar. It was November First. 

Well, shit.


	2. Just stay with me, that would be enough.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A question. An answer.

Theon sat there for several disbelieving moments before making a mad dash for the door. As in all things, when he realised he had fucked up, he went for some sisterly advice. Asha was still thoroughly banned from winterfell, though. She had an excellent time introducing lady Catelyn to the girlfriend of the month with all the pomp and circumstance she could muster, but the trout had thrown a fit worthy of Kings Landing. Sansa, then. 

With his immense luck, his favourite Stark was accompanied by her sister. Perhaps it was for the best, actually; one sister that understood why he did it and one that could help him fix it. Theon threw himself on the couch so hard that the dire wolf sitting on it got up in offence. Her owner giggled. “Arya, could you fake my death again?”

Sansa shook her head, still laughing, even as Arya sized Theon up- he was barely awake, dressed for a cozy evening in winterfell, and with hair that didn’t speak of a one night stand. “Nah. You screwed up your latest con again, not started a fight with a kingsguard. You can fix it yourself.” Theon groaned, looking positively wounded at her abrupt dismissal. “I think I might’ve screwed up _more_ than the event we don’t speak of with Selmy. I’ve managed to offend the Queen of Thorns.”

At this, Sansa actually deigned to look up from the embroidery she was doing- another wolf, how unique- to raise an eyebrow at him. Although Arya had refused a false death, she still looked interested. Anything Theon managed to screw up generally meant something entertaining for the little beast. At their prompting, Theon spilled the whole sorry tale. 

“Well, there’s nothing for it then,” said Sansa, who had carefully picked out a kraken in gold as Theon spoke. “I’ve always wanted to arrange a wedding, and dad would be happy to see one of us successfully hitched.” 

Theon spluttered out a denial, a refusal, anything to suffocate the glint in the stark sisters eyes. Only when they were both scheming could you really tell they were related. “You have to tell Robb and mum,” continued Arya. “We can handle the rest.” 

~

Although there was a little bit of dark glee in Theons heart at the prospect of getting to tell dear, sweet Lady Catelyn that her oldest and dearest son was actually marrying that boyfriend she had been steadfastly ignoring for years, he still had to ask the damn wolf to marry him first. He only wished it could’ve been on his own time. After being kicked out of Sansas room, he made his reluctant way to the smiths. The short detour to curse his own birth in the privacy of his room made him arrive after Arya, who had been conversing in a low voice with Gendry. Her on again off again boyfriend gave Theon an appraising look. 

“I hear you’re planning on raising the bar for all of us unsuitable partners, Theon.” Theon shot a dark glare to Catelyn Starks other least favourite future son in law, who seemed to be hiding a smirk. “I won’t even charge you a stag if you’ll let me be around when you tell the old hag. Maybe me and Arya can tie the knot too- get Bran and his little Reed in on it, or Sansa and her old dog, really drive the bat to- hey!” The smith was rudely interrupted by the elbow of his girlfriend, who didn’t usually get along with her mother, but didn’t appreciate quite as much bashing on her as Theon and Gendry did. “To the point, Bull.”

Gendry turned around, pulling the sheet he and Arya had been scribbling on into full view of Theon. To his surprise, he didn’t completely hate the rings drawn there. They were made of weirwood, like most of the ones found up here, but inlaid with gold and silver. Gendry had sketched some notes that referenced a pattern of waves in silver and a wolf in the gold, which Theon thought was a bit much. 

“Can you engrave words, instead?” He almost stuttered, which he hated, but he wanted this to be his offering to Robb. Not Gendrys. The smith thought. “I could probably get a simpler engraved set done by tomorrow night.” Arya jumped up, “I can make sure Robb goes for a walk in the wolfswood tomorrow night, alone! It’ll make it easier to hide the preparations, too.” Somehow, Theon managed a nod, and just like that, it was done. 

~

Robb, the next night, prayed to the weirwood for clarity. Sansa and Arya kept exchanging loaded glances and sneaking off together, which was unusual enough, but Theon was avoiding him as well! He was beginning to wonder if those three were attempting some grand heist together, but surely his boyfriend would have told him. The troubled wolf had just finished when, speak of the devil, Theon appeared. 

“Robb! Are you- do you have a minute?” Theons stuttering almost annoyed Robb more. The only reason he didn’t shout was because that was too Ramsay of him, and even in anger, he didn’t want to hurt Theon that much. “Finally decided to talk to me again, then? Did whatever you were plotting fall through?”

Theon turned beet red. So he was plotting something! He went to fumble at a little bag on his waste, but Robb grabbed his arm. “Theon. Love. Talk to me, please?” 

Once Theon stumbled past the first few words, the whole sorry story flowed out. Robb didn’t interrupt until the very end, when he began to feel disappointment build. “So you want to fake a marraige to get money from the Tyrell’s? Well, I suppose it won’t be hard, not if you’ve already got the girls working on-“

“No!” shouted Theon, realising he had skipped something in his haphazard explanation. “No,” he repeated, softly, “I don’t want to fake anything. I would’ve done this after everything that happened with B-Bolton if Lady Catelyn hadn’t been so... herself.” The squids hands reached for the pouch at his waist again, and this time Robb could see the telltale glint of weirwood bark under moonlight. He put a hand over his mouth as Theon slowly dropped to one knee.

“Robb Stark, you’ve always been there for me, even when I wasn’t for you. I’ve known I loved you since before Talisa, before Joffrey, before everything, and I want to spend this Winter and every one to come by your side. Fuck your mother. Fuck my father, fuck Ramsay and everyone else that wants to say no. If you say yes, that would be enough.”

Robb stood there in shock until Theons hand began to shake. He grabbed it, and him, and pulled his other half into a tight hug. “Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before the week is out we’ll meet dear Catelyn, Margaery, and have a wedding! Anyone else you want to turn up? Comments make my day!


	3. Wherein the author deviates wildly from both prompt and premise to deliver more healing and fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An end. A beginning.

Theon decided to take up scrapbooking. The look on Lady Catelyns face deserved to be remembered forever. 

Theon and Robb had been too busy “celebrating” their engagement to make it to breakfast on time the following morning. As such, the rest of the Starks (and wasn’t it nice, thought Theon, that he had a hold on the name Stark) were already well on their way through the meal when the pair showed up. Lord Eddard asked where they had been, and Theon was happy to oblige with news of their joyous engagement. While Lady Catelyn was mid swig of her orange juice. 

“Absolutely not!” Spluttered the Lady of Winterfell, before her husband even had time to raise his eyebrows. “I will not have you corrupting my son with your- your- your Ironborn treachery!” 

Theon huffed, silently wondering why that was the worst she could come up with, when her husband opened his mouth. “Wait a minute, Cat,” he said, squeezing her hand as she slowly turned purple, “we talked about this, didn’t we? It’s Robbs decision. And, for the record Theon,” and here, his surrogate father gave an awkward Northern smile, “you have my approval. When’s the wedding?” 

“End of the month,” said Robb through his grin. Lady Catelyn, a nice shade of puce, fainted. 

~

It became blatantly clear as the month wore on that Theon was making a mistake. Not with Robb- never with Robb- but with his damn siblings. 

“Why can’t you wear gold, Theon? It’ll match your eyes!” Sansa was straddling the line between endearingly focused and irritatingly so. It was impossible to say no to her, and she knew it. The cunning wolf had already managed to sink far too much of her claws into Theon without agreement on this solid gold tunic idea. Her boyfriend was beginning to shudder at the word wedding, and Theon had to agree: when she wasn’t in a frenzy sewing banners or cloaks, she was marshalling the rest of the Starklings with all the discipline of a war machine. Robb thought it was hilarious, of course. Traitor. 

Arya was her right hand man, enjoying her role as the designated Catelyn watcher. With the help of her direwolf, who kept mysteriously falling asleep in doorways and not letting anyone through, she kept her mother thoroughly occupied on begrudging preparations. Lady Catelyn was baking from dawn to dusk, desperately unhappy with the level of pomp and circumstance given to her favourite sons abhorred fiancé. Everytime she got within shouting distance of Robb, she beseeched him to change his mind. Robb had taken to wearing earmuffs on his walks around winterfell. 

Bran, aided by Meera Reed in aggressively running over the toes of anyone who tried to stop him, was decorating the godswood. Theon wasn’t sure how much decorating they were actually doing, considering that the place was as covered in snow when they finished as before they begun, but they both seemed to enjoy it, and they weren’t actively causing harm. 

Rickon was actively causing harm. Somehow, someone had let slip that Margaery was meant to be arriving the week before the wedding. Winterfell was accessible only by horse, this deep in winter, and so all of the foreign guests would be riding together. The wildest wolf had taken it on himself to steal Sansas gaudiest material for welcome banners, turning the arrivals hall into a glitter fested nightmare. 

Margaery Tyrell bent double laughing, luckily, and graciously provided her gifts. Theons eyes must have widened, because Robb leaned over to whisper in his ear. “You know, love, that what’s mine is yours, right? You can lean on me instead of her.”

Theon reddened, managing to completely miss Margaery making gleeful conversation with his second favourite Stark sister. “It’s interesting to see you je-je-jealous,” he managed to stutter out, and receiving an elbow for his troubles. And a kiss, shortly following.

~

The morning of the wedding dawned cold and crisp. Theons breath made shapes on the air as he marched his way to the godswood in short order, glad that at least Sansas gold trim traditional doublet was suitable for Northern weather. The godswood looked like a fairytale made for two. All of a sudden, it’s princess snuck up behind him. 

“Boo!” shrieked Asha, dragging her baby brother into a chokehold. “Little brother, tell me why I had to here about your wedding from my new sister?”

Theon became suddenly self conscious, fiddling at one of the buttons of his sleeve. Asha noted it, moving to opposite him and leaving her hands resting on his shoulders. “Hey. Hey, little squid. You’re doing this. You love this one? Really and truly?” 

Theons only possible response was a quick, sharp nod. His throat was too dry for anything else. Asha responded in kind, clasping the Greyjoy cloak onto his lapel. The pirate gave a grizzled smile, taking him by the arm. “Let’s go, then.”

Theons breath quickened as they entered the godswood proper. The white flurries of snow were swirling heavy now, even in here: he could only catch a glimpse of the weirwood leaves. Asha squeezed his injured hand as they finally moved into the clearing-

And then Theons breath vanished. Robb was everything that Ramsay wasnt: beautiful, kind, and absolutely in love with Theon. He had a way of smiling that lit up the clearing. Theon developed tunnel vision in that second. All he could see was his fiancé, his soon to be husband, resplendent in a grey smile. The wolf whistle from their sisters wasn’t audible. In fact, the only thing he could hear was his own heart, beating faster as he got ever closer to Robb. 

At some point between then and now, Theon found himself with a white ribbon wrapped around his good hand. It was dipped in saltwater, for his own faith, before the eyes of a weirwood, for his husbands (and wasn’t that good to say), and in front of a septon, for his mother in laws (that, not as much) and her dwindling sanity. 

Robb gave one, final, appraising glance at Theon, who felt his heart melt, before they began. “Who stands before the heart tree?” the septon called, sending tremors down Theons spine even as he spoke his name. “And who brings this man?” he continued. “Lady Asha, of House Greyjoy,” called his sister, proud as ever but unwilling to disturb this perfect moment. “Who comes to collect him?” “Lord Robb, of House Stark,” said Theons wonderful- were they married yet? Husband and husband, arm in arm? They were certainly cloak in cloak. Without him noticing, Asha had unclasped the kraken cloak over his shoulders. Theon could hardly believe the feel of wolf fur on his back, even as he fumbled for the collapse to attach Robbs new cloak to his shoulders. They couldn’t be equal in all things, but they were equal here. He could almost Sansa crying, somewhere in the background, as he and Robb turned to eachother. 

 

In perfect unison, they spoke the words, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Stranger, Maiden, Mother, Crone. I am his and he is mine, from this day, until the end of our days.”

The priest took a step back, letting his voice ring as Asha threw her bucket of true, iron islands salt water over the pair, silk doublets and all. “In the eyes of the Gods, these two are one! Cursed be those who would tear them asunder!”

With salt on their lips and sparkling in Robbs hair, Theon moved in to claim what could’ve always been his, if he’d only have had the guts to claim it. 

Thank the gods for those conniving Tyrell’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One set of golden rings enough for you guys?
> 
> Tomorrow:a new ship with the prompt of “geese”. Guess which couple would be involved in a dramatic showdown with six geese.

**Author's Note:**

> I do like this prompt. Poor, dumb Theon.


End file.
